


Turning Page

by WeirdWaryWonderful



Category: Carmilla (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, F/F, Feudalism, POV Alternating, POV Female Character, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 19:54:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5140526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeirdWaryWonderful/pseuds/WeirdWaryWonderful
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Though we're tethered to the story we must tell<br/>When I saw you, well I knew we'd tell it well<br/>With a whisper we will tame the vicious seas<br/>Like a feather bringing kingdoms to their knees."<br/>-Sleeping At Last</p><p>Laura and Carmilla, thrust into two very different social class situations in a medieval AU, have to navigate and overcome the struggles presented to them in order to achieve what they both want in life.</p><p>Strange how two people from completely different means learn that they both want the same thing at the end of the day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Turning Page

**Author's Note:**

> If you're unfamiliar with the term "feudalism," maybe take a quick refresher on the topic (google it.) It will help you to understand the root of the girls' issues.
> 
> Characters and warnings will be added as they appear.

You peek your head into the barn once more to make sure that all of the animals and equipment are in their proper places. Satisfied with what you see, you close the door and secure it for evening. You wipe your dirty hands on the edge of your well-worn smock and turn to face the setting sun.

It’s absolutely breathtaking. It paints the sky an array of reds, oranges, purples, and pinks as it makes its retreat behind the western mountains, signaling the end to another hard day’s work. With your neck craned back to take in the sight, you begin your slow journey across the farm, all the while pausing to stretch the sore muscles of your shoulders. You barely notice the pain though, as you’re so mesmerized by the beauty of the sky.

You wonder how something so common could never fail to leave you awestruck each and every single time you saw it.

“Laura!” A deep, familiar voice booms across the land, snapping you from your reverie. You see the silhouette of a broad figure standing in the doorway of a diminutive ramshackle house, and a grin spreads irresistibly across your face. You wave energetically at him and raise your voice in greeting, calling out.

“I’m coming Papa!”

“The sun will be there tomorrow and all the one’s after that,” he yells back, motioning for you to come to him. “Hurry up. Your supper is getting cold.”

“I’ll be right there!” You reply.

The silhouette chuckles audibly, a deep, hearty sound, and disappears back into the house. You too laugh gleefully with infectious cheer and speed up to a slow trot. You’re fatigued and hungry after all of that work in the fields, but the thought of your father volunteering to make supper for the both of you fills your small body with renewed vigor. Your father cooking wasn’t something that happened often, but when it did, you were sure to never miss a meal. 

Upon reaching the door, your fingers graze the handle and you hesitate before you turn back around and face the opposite direction. You squint your eyes and focus on the horizon, searching for– Ah, there it is!

Your gaze settles on a castle, built from white stone, which brilliantly reflects the radiance of the sun’s light. Beautiful and impenetrable, it is both the capital of the province in which you live and a symbol to any who dare to even dream of invading. _We are strong, and we will not stand to be underestimated._ Even by night the palace seemed to emit a faint glow, like a beacon of hope shrouded in darkness.

A heavenly sigh escapes your lips as you gaze longingly at the large castle. And then the daydreaming begins.

You’ve never really seemed to grow out of it. Even at nineteen years of age, you still let your imagination run wild, fantasizing about being a young noblewoman who would wear beautiful dresses, attend parties and elaborate dinners, and dance from dusk until dawn every night. 

You close your eyes and smile dreamily, imagining the numerous handmaidens you would have at your disposal, and the countless darling suitors lined up for days to win your hand, each more charming and endearing than the last.

You start to sway a little, humming a tune to yourself until the door suddenly whips open behind you.

“AH!” You cry out, startled at the disturbance.

Your father throws back his head and roars with laughter at your surprise as you clasp your hand over your chest and gasp for air.

You then reach over and good-naturedly shove his arm, squeaking in protest. “You scared me!”

His uproarious laughter mellows to a steady chuckle as he lays a warm, strong hand on your shoulder and guides you into the house.

“I was beginning to wonder what you’d gotten yourself into,” he says.

“Oh, just… Thinking,” you stammer, feeling a hot flush creep up your neck. Your father has caught you daydreaming more times than you’d like to admit. As a little girl it was one thing, but now as an adult woman? Embarrassing.

“Pretending to be a princess again?” He asks, not unkindly.

“Well, I mean…” You gesture around the tiny kitchen. It’s mostly bare save for a rickety table, some old chairs, and a cupboard that holds the few cooking utensils that you two own.

Your father looks around slowly, as if seeing it all for the first time.

“Well, I guess we’re not exactly living the glamorous life,” he says, and you immediately feel a twang of regret in your stomach.

You knew how much he wished that he could offer you a better life, but being born a villein didn’t exactly equate to the greatest means for anyone. It’s a struggle to even keep food on the table season after season, and yet you have the nerve to wish for something completely unattainable.

You bite your tongue, feeling deeply ashamed.

If he notices this, your father says nothing. Instead, he sits down at the table beside you and pushes a thick bowl of stew towards you and a hunk of bread, smiling encouragingly at you to eat. You do so with gusto, suddenly and painfully aware of how hungry you are. You’re more than halfway through the bowl before you pause to tear a chunk of the bread off with your teeth, chewing and gulping noisily.

After you’re both done and satiated, you lean back in your chair and stretch your arms out wide, yawning expansively. Your father chuckles. 

“Long day, huh?”

“Yessir,” you affirm, nodding sleepily. You can practically hear your bed calling your name from your room, but mealtimes were some of the very few moments where you and your father actually had a chance to enjoy each others’ company. Not much chatter happened while you two were out toiling in the fields.

Your father scratches his beard and looks at you thoughtfully. “It’ll be harvest time soon before you know it.”

“Mmhmmm.”

“I was thinking,” he starts, a small smile creeping across his face, “maybe you’d like to accompany me to the festival this year.”

A shock of excitement surges through you and you shoot up to your feet.

“Really!? I can go?” 

The festival is a huge event that happens in and around the large capital city that surrounds the palace. People from all over the kingdom, nobles and peasants alike, come to celebrate the end of the harvest season, bringing with them trade goods, entertainment, and stories taller than mountains. 

You have always remained at home during this occasion while your father drove the cart with a portion of the year’s harvest to bring to His Majesty the King as payment for allowing you and your father to live and work in His domain. And you’ve always wanted to go.

You start to bounce and gesticulate wildly, unable to control yourself.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” You throw yourself into your father’s arms and kiss him on the cheek. “Oh, I can’t wait to go, Papa! It’s going to be so much fun!”

He laughs and ruffles your hair, delighted by your happiness.

“It will be indeed, baby bear,” he says, calling you by your pet name, “But now, I think it’s time for you to turn in for the night. Tomorrow is going to be another long day.”

Despite your excitement, you struggle to stifle another yawn and nod in agreement. The festivities wouldn’t be for another couple of weeks. Sleep is for the now.

You’re halfway to your room before your father raises his voice again.

“Oh, Laura?”

You almost miss his new halting tone until you spin around and see a strange look on his face. He looks uncomfortable, and he’s doing that wringing thing with his hands that he does whenever something is troubling him.

“Yes Papa?” Still floating in your bubble of euphoria, you’re not expecting his next words.

“I almost forgot to mention, we’re supping with Gerhard tomorrow evening. He stopped by while you were out checking the far fields earlier this afternoon.”

“Okay…” You reply, a little uncertain. Gerhard, the village blacksmith, and your father have been good friends for years. It wasn’t unusual for villagers to invite friends over to dinner.

“Well, I just wanted to let you know because Theo is going to be there, and Gerhard and I have been talking…” he trails off awkwardly, and with a POP!, your little bubble has burst, and anxiety is now punching you in the gut.

This is NOT what you want to hear right now. 

“Oh Papa, no…” you feel like sinking into the ground and never coming back up to see the light of day. 

There’s only one reason, and one reason only, as to why Gerhard and your father would be arranging this little event for the evening.

They wanted to arrange a marriage between you and Theo.

Theo had been a childhood friend. You would play together with the other children your age until Theo, who was a couple years your senior, was old enough to join his father in the smithy. After that, he became incredibly serious and lost much of his whimsical humor that made him so fun as a child. The mischievous glint he used to have in his eye has since faded to a somber expression that he always seems to wear.

You can admit that he’s grown quite handsome in the in the past couple years, but marriage? That’s the last thing that you want from him.

Your father shrugs his shoulders helplessly and looks at you pleadingly.

“I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now–” he’s cut short by a hopeless groan from you, and then he adds steel to his words, “But you know you can’t keep avoiding this forever. Almost all of the girls you’ve grown up with are married or betrothed now, and Theo’s one of the only young men I’d trust with you.”

 You shake your head a little and hug yourself, panic closing in.

“Papa, I’m really not–”

“I thought it would be easier having Theo ask for your hand. You both grew up together, Gerhard said he’s–”

“But Papa, I–”

“NO!” Your father slams his fist on the table, making you jump, “Like it or not, you’re a grown woman now. It’s time for you to find a man who can put a roof over your head and provide for you, and someday your children. I love you, but I can’t keep you here forever. A fully grown woman, dammit Laura!”

You flinch from the force of his words and avert your eyes. You know he’s speaking the truth, even though the words are hard to swallow.

He immediately drops his hands and stands, his voice low with concern.

“Laura?”

You slowly look up at him, and are surprised to see his eyes glistening with tears. 

He holds out his arms to you.

You do what you’ve grown accustomed to ever since you could walk: you run to him.

He pulls you close and holds you tight, and you’re clinging onto him as if he were the one last thing keeping you from slipping into a dark abyss.

His voice is thick with emotion when he finally speaks again.

“I never want to let you go, baby bear,” he murmurs, “but it’s just the way things are for people like us.”

You nod a little, feeling too defeated to speak.

He kisses you gently on the head and whispers a quick “Goodnight,” to you before you peel yourself away and stumble to your room.

You pull off your clothes and crawl under your blanket, too tired to think about the evening’s events. 

Sleep comes quickly, and with it a dream of you gliding across a beautiful ballroom floor on the arm of a faceless figure.

* * *

“…” 

“…ness?” 

“Your highness? Princess Mircalla? Are you awake, your highness?”

The unwelcome noise cuts into the pitch darkness of the room like a hot knife through butter. It sets your teeth on edge, and you growl back at it.

“Go. Away.”

The source of the disturbance hesitates, and you hear cautious footsteps working their way into the room, an anxious pitter-patter not unlike those of a scared mouse. 

“Oh good, you are awake! I was requested to–” 

“Get out.”

“But your highness, I was specifically told–”

“OUT!”

The screaming intensifies the throbbing in your head, but it works. You harrumph in grim satisfaction as the page squeaks in fear and bolts from the room.

 _Good riddance. Of all the incompetent, insolent_ …

You don’t have enough energy left to finish the thought. Instead, you roll over and nestle further into your covers, determined to snooze the day away.

You’re just beginning to drift off again as the door of your room is thrown open with a massive BANG! and in storms who you’ve just now determined is the very bane of your existence.

“Mircalla. Up. Now!” The all-too familiar voice snaps at you, brimming with frustration.

You bury your head under your pillows and groan in response, refusing to move. 

The new disturbance stomps over to the window and throws the curtains back, illuminating your room with a blinding radiance. Your groan quickly shifts to an indignant howl, and you struggle to cocoon yourself under your blankets to avoid the dazzling light.

“Stop acting like a child and get up. Everyone in the entire palace is awake and has been for hours. It’s time for you to join us in the land of the living.”

You shift the covers a little so that you can glare balefully at the intruder with one squinting eye. 

He stands in the middle of your room with his hands on his hips and a scowl on his face. Already dressed in his garish garb for the day, all he’s missing is his crown.

Many would wonder how you could even dare to try and resist against his majesty the King.

You stubbornly felt that being his daughter gave you that right.

Letting out one final groan, you throw back the covers and sit up a little, blinking in the noon’s light. You can see from where you’re sitting that it’s a beautiful day outside.

You want nothing more than to spend the rest of it in bed.

Your father’s face suddenly twists in concern, and he sidles over to you, reaching for your forehead. You swat his hand away.

“Are you well, Mircalla?” (God, you hate that name. It’s so damn pompous.) “You look ill.”

“I’m fine,” you say with a shrug. Your head gives another painful throb and you do everything in your willpower not to wince.

Your father looks unconvinced. “Did you sleep well last night?” (No _._ ) “Do you want me to have the apothecary summoned? She can probably take a look at you and–”

_Definitely not._

“Keep that witch doctor away from me. I told you, I’m fine.” You force yourself to soften your voice in the hopes that a gentle demeanor will make him back off.

“Don’t call her a witch doctor,” he sighs in defeat and sits on the edge of your bed, running a hand down his face, “people will talk.” 

You simply shrug in response. Of course he’s more concerned about you referring to the red-haired herb-and-potions freak as a witch doctor instead of in your actual wellbeing. If only he knew what sort of strange concoctions you’ve seen her force-feed ill residents as a means of “improving their health.”

At least he seems to be finished with the interrogation. 

Small blessings.

With a clearing of his throat, your father jumps to his feet. “Well,” he claps his hands together with another force to make you grit your teeth, “we have a lot to do today, as with the coming weeks.” All business now, he begins pacing about the room, hands clasped behind his back. He starts rattling off duties and chores and other tasks that need to be accomplished, but you’re only half listening. Instead, you’ve elected to stare out the window and let your mind wander until your father stops his pacing and stands right in front of you.

“Now Mircalla, I want you to be a gracious host and make sure to greet all of the special guests that we’ve invited to stay at the palace. They’ll be here for the duration of the festival, and they will be expecting nothing but the best hospitality we can offer them. Do I make myself clear?”

You cock a single eyebrow and raise your hand in a mock salute. Your father narrows his eyes at you. 

“I don’t think I can be any more clear when I say absolutely no funny business, young lady. These are very important guests, and I would not want to see them disappointed.”

You drop your hand and dip your head a little, ever the obedient daughter. “Yes father.”

Appearing satisfied, your father claps one more time and turns to leave your room, but not before throwing one more comment over his shoulder.

“Go wash and make yourself up, but be quick about it. Goodness, girl, you look like you barely slept at all last night.”

 _You didn’t, but isn’t any of his business to know that_.

The door shuts behind him with a soft click, and you allow yourself a wicked grin. 

Sure, your head may feel like shit, but it’s definitely worth the little trip you took last night.

You rise from your bed and go to the window, looking down on the city and remembering the rush of ducking and dodging through the streets, all leading up to the sweet climatic release of a hot breath in your ear, a hand between your legs, head thrown back as you cry out in satisfaction… 

_But your father doesn’t need to know._

You sigh deeply and spin around, raising your voice to call out to one of your handmaidens who would assist you in the bathing and dressing.

If you absolutely had to participate in your father’s ridiculous going-ons, you weren’t going to waste precious energy on such menial tasks yourself.

* * *

 

You poke at the food on your plate and throw a quick glance at the stern-faced boy sitting across from you. He refuses to look up, staring down at his meal with an iron focus. 

Conversation spins around the room and above your head, but you’re barely paying attention. From the second you walked through the blacksmith’s door, you’ve been silently commanding yourself; _smile, make eye contact, hug Gerhard’s wife Angela, oh Theo’s offering his hand quick shake it, was that too firm?, sit down, don’t throw up, food?, say thank you, smile, take a bite, don’t throw up, now laugh, don’t throw up, don’t throw up don’t throw up don’t throw up_.

Most of the discussion is driven by Gerhard and your father. After a few goblets of wine each, both men are slightly red in the face and bawdy with laughter. They swap stories and gossip about their work, people in the village, past hilarities, all the while shaking the house with the roar of their merriment. Normally, you would be laughing right along with them, but you’re so anxious you can’t fully enjoy yourself.

Theo hasn’t said much either. Since giving you an initial stiff nod and quick handshake in greeting (both of which seemed far too formal considering your history), he has spent the entirety of supper looking at anything and everything that wasn’t you.

Given the circumstances, you’re mostly okay with this. But if this union is going to be official, you wonder if perhaps he’s being a little too cold. 

(If you’re being perfectly honest though, you really wish this arrangement wasn’t happening right now. Or ever.)

You sit back in your chair and give a defeated sigh. You’ve eaten as much as you’ve could without being sick, and now it’s time to wait out the remainder of the evening. Hopefully it won’t be for much longer.

Your hope starts to crumble when Angela brings out a new pitcher of wine. _Why don’t they just wrap this up?_ You think to yourself as you nervously clench your fists under the table.

You can’t take it anymore.

Never taking your eyes off your father, you stand abruptly. All conversation comes to a halt. Theo looks up at you curiously.

Your voice trembles a little as you begin to speak. 

“I… I think I’m ready to go home now,” you say.

Your father raises his eyebrows a little. Just as he takes a breath to respond, Theo nearly knocks his chair over backward as he leaps to his feet.

“I can walk her back,” he starts, then flushes when his father turns to gape at him.

_Is this actually happening?_

You feel your lips flapping like a fish gasping for air, but no sound comes out. Your father coughs, and Gerhard suddenly looks murderous.

“Are you out of your damn mind, boy? Do you honestly think I’d let you go alone and unsupervised with–”

“No, it’s okay Gerhard.”

Your jaw practically hits the floor when you realize that the last spoken words are from your father. Your father, the most protective man in your entire life.

Gerhard stares at your father, his bushy brows disappearing into his mess of hair. Even Theo looks stunned.

Your father coughs again into his fist. But you can see his eyes sparkling with amusement.

“Let the boy walk her home,” he says, “I trust that she’ll be safe.”

“I… But… Are you sure?” Gerhard stammers, glancing back at his son (who’s returned to a mostly normal color.) “Aren’t you worried that–”

“No,” your father asserts again, now looking back at his friend. “I’m sure that the two of them will behave.”

_This can’t be happening. This isn’t happening._

You’re absolutely dumbfounded as your father looks at you one last time and gives you a small smile. Your head is spinning so much that you barely register it when Theo appears at your side and offers you his arm, saying something that ends with “… go Laura.” 

At the sound of your own name you reach up and take the offered elbow, letting it guide you out of the stifling warm house and into the night. 

The cool evening air helps to clear your head a little. Your heart is still slamming in your chest, but the initial weakness in your knees seems to be receding.

Theo walks stiffly and formally for a couple hundred steps, then pulls his arm out of your steely grasp and slides his hands into his pockets, never once looking at you.

You continue to walk side-by-side, all the while shooting glances in his direction. His brows are furrowed and he seems deep in thought.

 _What is he thinking? Is he nervous too? Is he going to– Oh no._ You mentally flounder. _He’s going to officially propose right now, isn’t he?_  

The urge to throw up hits you like a wave.

The two of you finally reach your house, and you clasp your shaking hands together in front of you. Your breath is coming in short, shallow gasps, and you can’t find the air for words.

Theo finally looks down at you. His dark eyes are intense.

“Well I had a wonderful evening–” you start just as Theo begins to say, “Laura, I was thinking–”

“Oh…” you both say, then laugh nervously. Your chest feels constricted.

“You go first,” you manage. 

“You sure?”

You nod. That’s all your capable of at this point.

“Okay…” Theo starts, drifts off. Clears his throat. “Laura, I…”

You suck in a breath and brace yourself, preparing for the next coming words.

“I know what this evening was all about. And I’m glad my father has some interest in my future. But… I don’t want to marry you.”

That was NOT what you were expecting. 

You blink hard at Theo. He stares back, face completely blank.

“You… Don’t?” You squeak.

Theo clears his throat and nods. “Is… Is that okay?”

You suddenly feel immensely light, like some enormous weight has been lifted off your shoulders. Before you can stop yourself, you’re laughing, borderline hysterical.

“Yes, yes I’m okay with that. I’m SO okay with that!”

Theo looks stunned. “Really?”

“Yes,” you say, sinking to the ground. All of the tension in your body is gone.

You watch in shock as Theo’s faces breaks into a broad grin. That old twinkle is back in his eye, and he raises both fists to the sky.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but yessss!”

You both dissolve into helpless peals of laughter. Once you’re both through, you look at each other carefully. The air of awkwardness that has been hovering between the two of you all evening seems to have completely vanished. 

Theo then offers you his hand. You take it, and he pulls you to your feet.

“I can explain everything,” he says, “Walk with me.”

You begin walking beside him again, slowly circling the edge of your father’s land. The stiff march from before has been replaced by an easy-going stroll. Theo even swings his arms as he walks, his body language relaxed.

“I’ve been working in the smithy here with my old man for as long as I can remember now,” Theo starts. “I love what I do. Everything about being a blacksmith appeals to me. And I love this little place very much. It’s my birthplace and my home. But I don’t want to be stuck here forever, you understand?”

You nod in agreement.

Theo stops walking and looks up at the stars.

“My father has taught me this trade well. And I know that when he passes, it’ll be up to me to take up the family forge and continue his work for the village. The problem is, I have bigger plans for myself. 

He looks back at you.

“I don’t want to be some village blacksmith for the rest of my life. No, I have plans that don’t involve this place. I’m going to leave and make a name for myself.”

He pauses, his intense eyes piercing yours.

“And that’s why I can’t marry you, Laura,” he concludes, his gaze unwavering, “If we were to marry, I could never leave this place. I could never follow my dreams. I’m going to take my skills elsewhere, and be the best that I can be. If I work hard enough, I know that I can make it someday.”

You smile kindly at him. You can’t help feeling proud of him (not to mention that you’re so happy that you’re not getting married that almost anything would make you side-splittingly joyful at this point.) But you really can’t help feeling pride that someone you’ve known for years is going to be pursuing his dreams.

_If only you could chase your own. Foolish girl._

“I understand,” you say softly. Theo smiles warmly back at you before reaching out and resting his hand on your shoulder.

“Thank you Laura. I’ll never forget you and your infinite kindness.”

He gives you a swift kiss on the cheek before pulling away and walking back in the direction of his home. He raises a single hand in farewell. You watch him go until he disappears into the night.

You’re now left alone with no company, save a chorus of crickets and the blanket of stars above you. Winking back, otherworldly watchers.

Slowly, you turn your head until you spot a familiar faint, silvery glow on the horizon. Always there, so far out of reach, just like your own dreams.

_His fate may change, but you would be insane to think yours ever could._

With one final sigh, you head to your house alone. Your father would probably be back soon, and you feel a tired heaviness deep in your bones.

(You would later find out from your father that Theo had approached him earlier that day with his plans for you in the evening. This is why your father was okay with letting the boy walk you home alone, despite the potential scandal.)

It seems some things do go your way. At least you can be thankful for that, right?


End file.
